Requiem
by Macushla
Summary: Fighting pollution is nothing compared to facing a family tragedy.


**_This short story is written in remembrance of my grandfather, who passed away last week. His Irish eyes are smiling down from heaven now. Pop-pop, I miss you._**

**_So, everyone's too sympathetic and nice to tell me that I needed editing? Here's the cleaned-up version._**

The flight seems interminably long. I look out the window for the millionth time, hoping to see something I recognize – the Urals, Moscow, something. And yet, at the same time, I have never been less anxious to reach our final destination in my life.

The silence between us is tense, but neither of us has ventured to break it. It is a first for the two of us. I am filled with gratitude that Wheeler has offered to join me on this difficult trip, but I say nothing. I cannot find the words. My thoughts have interrupted every attempt I have made to disrupt our quiet voyage.

Wheeler, too, has chosen to remain silent. I am both grateful and distressed at his choice. Please, I plead internally, please, say something, Wheeler. Upset me, anger me, flirt with me, anything. Give me an excuse to bring these difficult emotions to the surface.

I look over at him. He glances at me for a moment and gives me a small and fleeting smile before turning his attention back to the sky in front of him. I sigh and look down at my hands, folding them this way, then that, not really knowing what to do with them. In the end, I find myself clenching them together and repeating two words in my mind over and over: "Please, God. Please, God."

No atheists in foxholes, Linka. Apparently no agnostics either. At that moment, I feel an overwhelming desire to believe every word disseminated from my half-forgotten Orthodox faith. "Please let me be talking to someone," I think. "Please let someone be hearing me."

My thoughts travel back to the call I received from Mishka just hours before. "Please come home, Linka. She is waiting for you."

As I tossed a small suitcase into the cruiser, I could just register the voices around me. Gi telling me she would come if I needed her. Ma-Ti saying that he could be a source of comfort in the midst of sadness. But I had shaken my head, "_Nyet._" Then I looked over at the American, "Wheeler?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, Babe. Whatever you need."

I do not know why I had felt such certainty in asking Wheeler to join me. Perhaps it was because he had so often been a source of laughter in my life and I could not bear to attempt this solemn trip without his levity. Perhaps it was because he knew her, and he had loved her, in his way, and she, him. I had felt deep down that, when Mishka said that she was waiting for me, it was really _us_ for whom she was waiting.

And, perhaps, it was for my own reasons. Perhaps I had my own reasons for wanting Wheeler to stand beside me and walk through my pain with me. Perhaps I did not feel I could do it without him.

The mountaintops near the outskirts of Moscow came into view and I peered down at them, both comforted and saddened by their familiarity. That valley was the one where we ate a picnic lunch when I was ten. It was the day that Mishka and I had waded into the creek and sat down to lunch soaking wet. She had tried to scold us, but her laughter prevented it and we three laughed about that day for years to come. And the cliff beyond the valley was where I had learned to play a good variation on a swallow's song. I had forced her to sit and listen to me play it thousands of times after that. And each time, she said, "_Otlitchno_, Linka. No bird has ever had so pretty of a song."

I feel the tears welling inside me, burning hotly in my throat. I pull my knees up and press my forehead to them, willing myself to keep from crying. I am unsuccessful.

Wheeler hears my muffled sob and reaches over to place his hand on my shoulder.

In a few moments, we are landing in the field near my old home. I stare at it as if I had never been there before. Everything looks the same, not a leaf out of place, but I find myself paralyzed. Wheeler crouches next to me as I sit transfixed in my seat. "You wanna wait?"

I nod and the incongruence is not lost on me. Hours ago, I had been hurriedly tossing items into my suitcase to get here as quickly as possible. And now, I am scared to go inside my own house to see the woman who raised and loved me so much.

Wheeler stays quietly beside me and I reach out for his hand. It feels so warm in my own and I squeeze it tightly. He does not complain. It gives me strength.

I rise unsteadily and we begin to walk towards the house. As we enter, Mishka is carrying a cup of tea from the kitchen. He looks tired and lost and the pain hits me again.

He sets down the teacup and I run to embrace him. He holds me tightly and his sobs wrack his tall frame. I give up being strong and allow myself to cry in my brother's arms. I feel like a child again and I do not know what to do with the overwhelming emotions. Somehow, sharing them with Mishka both exacerbates and ameliorates the sadness.

Mishka releases me and crosses to Wheeler in a few broad steps. "Wheeler," he says, taking the American's hand, "Thank you for coming with my sister. I know it means a lot to her. And to Grandmother."

Wheeler looks uncomfortable. I realize immediately that he is in the rare situation of not knowing what to say. "It's OK," he shrugs. "Anything for Linka. Just let me know what I can do for you guys."

I reach out for his hand. "Come, " I say, "let us go see Grandmother."

We enter her small bedroom and everything is so neat that I do not want to touch anything for fear of moving it out of place. Then, I see her, propped up with pillows in her bed. She looks grey and frail and very, very tired. I smile at her as brightly as I can. "_Privyet, Baba_."

I see light return to her eyes, but they do not brighten as they once did. "Linka! _Privyet, milaya moya! _And you have brought Wheeler! What a wonderful surprise!"

Wheeler grins broadly at my grandmother's excitement. "It's good to see you, too. You look beautiful. You turning eighteen anytime soon?"

Grandmother laughs softly and I hear it rattle in her lungs. "You are a charmer, _amerikanits moy_. It warms my heart to know that my little Linka will be taken care of once God takes me."

"_Baba_, do not talk that way!" I scold. "You cannot talk as though you are dying! Nobody knows for sure when they will…"

"God does," she asserts. "God knows when we will come to be on earth and when we will leave it for heaven. And He has been preparing to welcome me home."

Anger courses through me at her calm acceptance of death. How can she not fight on? How can she casually embrace the end of her life and leave us here without her?

But as I look at her, I see beyond the greyness and the frailty and the eyes that did not brighten and the rattle in her lungs. As I look in her eyes, I see a serenity and a beauty that I had never seen before. And I see that she is indeed very tired. I am asking her to live for Mishka and me. I want her to be the grandmother who laughed when we came to lunch soaking wet and the one who listened to my bird songs countless times. But she had done that. She had been that woman. And now, she sees that she has done all that we required of her. She is ready to rest.

The revelation hits me so suddenly that I do not have time to brace myself. I collapse by her bed and bury my head in her lap, overcome with sobs. Somewhere in the background, I hearWheeler excuse himself and exit. She runs her hand through my hair gently. "Oh, darling, I know you are afraid. I know that it is hard to think that you will not be able to see me as you once did. But I will always, always look after you, _milaya moya. _And we will meet again."

I look up at her as I wipe tears from my cheeks. "How do you know that? How do you know that there is anything else? Grandma, I have kept an open mind about God all my life. I have never shut the idea of God out despite everything in science being against His existence. But what if there is nothing else?"

My grandmother shakes her head. "Darling, then why bother with life at all? Why search for love and stand up for what is right? Why stop pollution and protect the animals?"

I search her face. It is kind and peaceful and becoming quite sleepy. "Because it is the right thing to do."

"_Prekrasno_. And despite the fact that it is easier to bring harm to the world than do good, people like you and Mishka and Wheeler find ways to do good. There must be something telling your hearts to do the right things. That is God's voice, my child. And He will reward those who listen."

I sense Mishka's presence behind me and I reach out for his hand. Grandmother's breath is slowing and her eyes are becoming heavy. "Oh, they look so beautiful!" she exclaims.

Mishka's tears are falling on my shoulder. "Who does, _Baba_?"

A hint of the smile touches her lips as she struggles to keep her eyes open. "Your parents. With roses for me. _Bozhe moy, deti_. They love you so much. I hope…" She gasps slightly. " I hope that I took good care of you for them…"

I clasp her hand. It is cold. "You did, Grandma, you did. We are fine. We are happy. You…" I swallow hard against the sob building in my chest. "…you can rest now."

Her breathing is shallow and her eyes close. "_Spaciba,_" she whispers. "_Spaciba_."

I crumble into Mishka's embrace and we hold each other for a long time. In the midst of my tears, I open my eyes to look out the window. I hear the songs of swallows as the sun blithely paints the landscape with October. In the distance, I hear the sounds of the village. Machines are whirring, car horns are beeping, and business is being carried on. I find myself becoming enraged at the sounds of another day going by.

"It is not fair!" I shout.

Mishka releases me at my abrupt outburst. "_Znaiyou_. It is not fair."

I shake my head. He does not understand me. "_Nyet_, it is not fair! Look, Mishka, look outside." I stand by the window and he joins me. "It is not fair that birds are singing and people are carrying on as though nothing has changed." I look up at him as the tears well in my eyes again. "But everything has changed. How can there be a world with no Grandma? How can…we…just…" I leave my thought unfinished as I sink down to the floor. He sits with me and we both look over at her body. We are both expecting her to wake up and ask for a cup of tea. But she does not stir.

Mishka leans his head against mine. "We will be OK, little Linka. We will take all that she has taught us and create wonderful lives. She has given us all we need; that is why she felt she was ready to sleep."

I nod slowly. My brother stands and pulls me to my feet. We both walk over to the bed where our grandmother lay and stand in quiet stillness for a moment. Then I bend down and kiss her forehead. "Farewell, _Baba_. We loved you so. We will remember what you taught us and we will make you proud, I promise."

With that, I turn and walk slowly out of the room. As I open the door to the living room, Wheeler stands up from the sofa, where he had been waiting.

He looks at me for a long time. I know that he wants to say something. He wants to tell me that death was a part of life and that she had lived a wonderful life and that no one was really gone as long as we remember them.

But he does not say a thing. He just holds open his arms slightly, letting me know that he is there for me without being insistent. I run to him and throw my arms around him. "I'm so sorry," he says and holds me tight.

I nod and lean my head on his shoulder. I feel his warmth and his support and his love and I know that it is going to be all right.

Just not today.


End file.
